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Hi, it’s me. Tyler! Let’s get one thing straight, okay? There’s no such thing as “Pet Heaven”. Now, wait a minute, wait a minute….. don’t get all bent out of shape, let me finish! The guy that made up this so called “Pet Heaven” knew nothing about us. There’s only one Heaven, and that’s right there, up in your face, licks and slurps, with humans! They can’t get rid of us that easy (not that they really want to), we’re there romping and frolicking right alongside, and we don’t even have to go to PETCO to get all the goodies. Heaven is Petco, only you don’t have to pay for anything. And you don’t have to work at being cute!

I want to talk about a very special dog. That’s right, a DOG! Any of you cats have trouble with that, you just pay me a visit at about 3:00 after my nap, and if I don’t answer I’m still napping. As I was saying, this DOG’s name was Chip. We used to live right next door from each other, only I didn’t see him that much because they never let me out of the house. But I could HEAR him alright. Humans call it “yapping” but I could clearly make out the words through his accent, had no trouble at all with it. He would say things like……

“Wow! Another cookie??? (and not a silly dog brand either, a real COOKIE, the kind humans reserve for themselves and would never think of sharing with anyone else, let alone a DOG). Thanks, Mom……you’re the BEST! You’re the BEST!”

And then he would say….

“Here comes Randy! Here comes Randy! I think he’s got a treat! I think he’s got a treat!” (Why he oftentimes repeated everything twice, I’ll never understand. It could have been due to his very excitable nature). After three long years, I finally figured out who this mystery cat “Randy” was. The MAILMAN, of all people. He never brought anything for ME! Not a single mouse!

But more often than not, he’d say……

“I’m so happy to see you, happy to see you! Whatcha got, whatcha got? I don’t care, I’m just so happy to see you!”

I think you know by now, this Chip kid was the HAPPIEST dog in the world. He had the BEST human EVER! If I was a dog, which I’m not, and never hope to be, nor do I aspire to be anything of the kind, it would be an honor and a privilege, to be accepted into Susan’s household, with or without all the extra cookies. She would center her WHOLE WORLD around me, not like SOME people, whose names I won’t mention, MICHAEL. (It’s not like you give me anything significant off your plate while I stare into your beautiful blues with my own. But, be that as it may, you’re still an alright guy, even if you do torment me by calling my name a thousand times like an imbecile. Is it any wonder I don’t give you the time of day? Not that I care to know what the stupid clock face says. You only need to know suppertime and nap time, that’s it. And those two happen several times throughout the day and not necessarily in any kind of order. For instance, you might supper and then supper again, or nap nap, supper, nap, supper nap nap, whichever and whenever you prefer. Sounds confusing but there’s really no great mystery).

Anyhow, this isn’t about me. Susan is heartbroken right now because Chip left suddenly last night. He was in a hurry to see his relatives (whom he had never met) after hearing about them for so many years. What Sue doesn’t know is that, right about now, his grandad is showing him how to fix cars and will let him drive (without so much as taking a single lesson, I dunno, he just knows HOW all of a sudden) . They’re going to see his aunt, who loves to party, and his grandma who has a thousand stories about Susan he’s never heard before. Like the one about Susan looking exactly the same way coming out of the bathroom, to get all spiffed up, as she did going in! But Chip says he wouldn’t have it any other way. Why change perfection?

He says he misses you, but for Pete’s sake (who’s Pete?) stop crying! He’s having too much fun to worry about that now. It’s okay to be sad, but he’ll see you later. He really is a lucky dog. I have to live nine lives before I get to drive! For now, they shove me in the back compartment where I can’t even be near the controls, let alone see where we’re going! How do they expect me to learn anything? How will I find my way to Heaven? Chip says to follow the cookie crumbs. I don’t know. Sounds too Hansel and Gretelish to me. I don’t want to end up at the witch’s house.

Another route is to follow the paw prints. There are two sets , one of them is human with a kind of glow around them. They belong to the “Good Shepherd”. I hear he’s a really nice guy. He must be to be with all those stinky sheep. I think I can convince him to be more of a cat person…….when the time comes. I’ve got eight more lives to go. God, I hope the next one’s better than this. I can’t even see out the window. The ledge is too skinny and they won’t leave the door open! What’s wrong with them anyway? Even Chip got to go outside. I wish I was a bird. Not the one I ate the other day, though. Tell him I said, “Hi”. I’m not sorry. It was the most fun I had in a long time and anyway, he got to go to a good place. Is he driving yet?

Hi, it’s me again. Tyler! I want to talk about how silly human beings are, in case no one’s noticed and I haven’t mentioned it before. They think bowing to our every little need will buy them more love and respect. Ha!

Take for instance, “Petco” or “Pet Smart” (like they need to advertise how smart we are). It used to be you’d go to the local supermarket and get a dopey little toy with the bit of catnip and the annoying tinkling bell. Humans would throw it into their shopping cart as a last minute gesture to make us think they were sooooooooooo thoughtful. But the minute they threw it into our faces when they got home, we knew better. We’d give it a little poke, then turn our tail up and walk the other way. Look, it wasn’t quality, okay? They just don’t grow catnip there like they do here.

The beans grew desperate for attention. So they created these huge conglomerates , pet this and pet that, and come on in with your pooches with smooches and buy the place up. Let’s get something straight. For thousands of years, long before the dawn of man, cats have been eating off the forest floor. We don’t need a fancy metal tray designed to prop two identical dishes at exactly three and a quarter inches under our chins. (Do we have have chins? Or is that distinction only given to humans? This requires more investigation.)

What about “cat trees”? Give me a break! Plushly carpeted stairs haphazardly placed with a little cubby hole thrown somewhere in between is supposed to take the place of the maple outside the window with the bird’s nest in it? “Here, Whiskers! Isn’t it great!” Try giving your cat a respectable name, Fatso.

Let’s talk flea collar, like we need it if you don’t let us out. What? Oh, just incase we get out? (The brilliancy of preventive medicine at its finest). If you’d let us out we wouldn’t need the litter box you can’t stand cleaning, blockhead! (Sorry for the expletive.) You have taken away our inalienable right to poop wherever we please, like that perfect little patch between the petunias and the “ impatience” (and so aptly named too). Listen, when your toilet stops up, stop complaining and try using the litter box for once. See how you like it. It’s not my fault you get irritated when the little granules get stuck to the bottom of your feet when we track it all over the floor. What are we supposed to do, wipe our feet? Oh, now they have these ingenious rubber mats that are supposed to trap the little buggers on the spot. Don’t you dare buy one of those! I’d much rather have you spend your “hard earned money” on that silly little stuffed toy with the tweeting sound. I promise I’ll poke it more than once if it’ll make you happy.

And what about the poor dogs? Not that I care that much, but really, how humiliating for them to have their dopey little heads poking out of a canvas mesh bag while the beans carry them around shopping for collars with rhino stones (I think that’s what they call them).

Pampered Pets, indeed! If there’s anyone being pampered it’s the beans themselves, especially the sharecroppers (not sure of the word)of the huge corporations cashing in on all this. What? Where are you going? You mean the big one in Orange Plaza? Don’t forget to bring me back that toy, you know, the red one with the stripes on its belly and the feather with the bell. Sorry about the interruption, folks, had to attend to some urgent business matter.

So…………….whadayathink? Can you live without the luxury of a back roll on an imported oriental rug? Wouldn’t you much rather romp in the meadow catching butterflies? They call them that because they’re so slippery! But not as slippery as humans, watch out for those!

Hi, it’s me! Tyler! I’ll get right into it today, no pussy footing around.

Stephen Hawk King says if the human species is going to survive they need to colonize another planet in the next 100 years. First he said 1000 years, now it’s 100. This poses a problem right off the bat, this inconsistency with the number of years. After screwing up the earth in more ways than I can count on one paw (and I’m not a Hemingway cat, I only have 5 digits), they can’t even remotely estimate how long they have before they go and pollute another planet. One hundred years, give or take nine hundred. Hit it in the ballpark, okay?

Which brings me to my second point. They can’t even agree on Yankees and Red Sox let alone climate change. When push comes to shove, who gets to go to this pristine paradise and mess it up?

We all know the moon is inhabited by mice, right? There are huge craters dug by monster sized mice nibbling at the moon’s crust (I think it’s Limburger, nice and smelly like a good pair of old sneakers). I’d like to go there! All cats should be sent to the moon!

There’s only one problem with that. Once all the mice have been eaten, who’s going to open that can of cat food? I propose we send one human along with all the cats to be our slave. Let’s face it. We don’t need a whole human species. One human bean is enough. But what if something happens to that one bean? Like he contracts ring worm from Saturn for instance? One can never be too careful. Okay, two then! Let’s make it two beans. One to open the can, the other to dispose of it. That’s all they can handle anyway. No, wait. We have to be responsible and recycle. Can we use the same can over and over? If we do, what will be the function of the other bean? Can we get him to groom us? Does he appreciate the quality of a good brush?

As for all of the other animals on earth, let’s make a space age Noah’s Ark and get two of each species and blast them far enough away from the moon. They can all fend for themselves without so-called human intervention (as witnessed on planet Earth). That should satisfy animal advocates and fundamentalists alike.

It’s really sad, though. I’ll miss some things about Earth. All those birds and bugs I swat at and never seem to catch. I really don’t like the taste of mice that much. I’d much rather have a can of Fancy Feet, chicken’s my favorite. Wait! Hawk King said we have one hundred years, right? So I won’t be around anyway! And we won’t need a human to open that can, except for right now! So where’s Michael? Open that can of chicken and you can throw the empty can at Hawk King for all I care.

So……………whadayathink? Should humans venture into space and cause more chaos and corruption? Will they force aliens from their homeland and let Luke Skywalker open a casino? Will Das Trump Tower disappear from the skyline once and for all? And is it really constructed with millions of cans of Fancy Feet? Let’s get him to open a can! An instructional video should do the trick. He does have trouble reading. Is “chicken” too hard a word? Does he know one when he sees one? Do we trust him with this job?

Hi, everybody! It’s me, Tyler!

I just heard that Orange Cat, I think his real name is Trumpet (you know, the cat that’s always blowing his own horn?) is funding 19.5 billion cans of Fancy Feast to send us to Mars in 2030. Anyone who wants to go will get healthcare for life!

First off, I just want to say, that’s a waste of good quality cat food, even if they do use the flavors I don’t particularly care for. (I’ve been told I can be finicky, whatever that is.) There are a lot of starving cats out there who would be perfectly happy to stay right here on solid ground and eat out of a dish that doesn’t float around. We want our meals on wheels and that means not airborne.

Secondly, this is just a ploy to get his healthcare act approved. Ha!

Thirdly, I heard he doesn’t want to go to Mars himself! Well, why not, Mr. Space Cadet??? It’s perfectly reasonable to assume that a cat with orange hair would be well suited for a red planet. Just think of all the real estate you can develop. Why, you can even change the name from plain old Mars to “Tremendous” Mars. You wouldn’t have to worry about Saturday Night Live either. I think the reception might be a little too fuzzy. But you can be sure we’ll blast them to you on the next flight because we just can’t wait for your tweets. Are you still eating canaries?

Fourth, you won’t have any concerns about your wires being tapped, it’s a long way off and that Russian cat can join you so you won’t be all by yourself. Oh, that’s right, you’re already all by yourself. Well….see, then you’re used to it!

Yes, Mr. Trumpet, I think we should begin your introduction into the space capsule for your new home office. Let’s call it the West Wing, shall we? What’s that? Some blond kitty is taking up residence there? That’s okay, plenty of room for the lot of you! And let’s not wait until 2030, there’s no time like the present! We know how impatient you can be. So, let’s get started. Counting down….

So…….whadayathink? Does anyone know the name of Orange Cat’s tailor to get him fitted with a space suit? What about the helmet? Does anyone have one big enough? How about using the top of a silo? Still too small? Wouldn’t it be fun to shave off all that orange hair and paste to his face? He would look a little like Rasputin, that other Russian cat. Are Putin and Rasputin related???

This portion has been sponsored by the National Endowment For The Cats. Thank you for your support.

I heard of this orange cat called Trump. From what I can gather, he sits on top of this guy’s head. But when anyone questions him on it, he yells out “Wrong!” They say he tweets a lot but it must be from all of the birds he’s swallowed. Some say he eats a lot of crow.

He’s pretty chummy with a Russian cat named Putin but he won’t admit it. They think that’s how he weaseled his way into the office. He can’t be too bright because I don’t need anyone’s help to do that! I’m sitting here right now typing on the home office computer.

Anyway, he says he’s a really smart guy!But if he’s so smart why does he have to keep saying it? Wouldn’t we know it by his vocatulary? If everything he does is so “amazing, huge, tremendous, terrific and fantastic”, wouldn’t we know it without him having to tell us all the time??? He needs to pick some words that better describe how his feelings always seem to get hurt. Like “me-ow, me-ow, me-ow”. Those words bear repeating.

What’s all this talk about fake news? I think Saturday Night Live is a perfectly legitimate source. And he’s right there impersonating Alec Baldwin. I don’t get it. What’s that? Alec’s impersonating him? They look identical. ”Amazing!” Well, anyway, he has zero sense of humor. There he goes tweeting again. I need a closer inspection to get that canary out of his mouth.

He says he’s the least racist person but then why does he want to build a wall to keep the immigrants out? I have every right to be in this country. I don’t want to be deported to Mexico even if I was born in Texas. It’s all the same to him. And if I do get to stay here I have to pay for the wall because that Mexican cat isn’t paying for it. Orange cat says he’s very, very rich. Why doesn’t he pay for it??? He’s the one with his name on every single building, like we need to be reminded of how great he thinks he is. It’s not even his real name. It’s “Drumpf”, like someone who’s just uttered how miserable he feels! He should have kept it, matches the look on his face.

Now he says he’s been wire tapped by the cat that used to be in the office. What’s the big deal? I tap wires all the time and nothing ever happens tome. What a whiner, cry baby. Maybe if he tries tapping some wires himself, he’ll get zapped. He’s not smart enough to know which ones are live.

Personally, I think he’s fat and ugly (and I’m not being rude, he says it all the time and gets away with it). That orange cathasgot to go! And take his stupid tweets with him! He needs to be peached right now (even if they’re not in season) and I would crush them a little bit first so they splatter good and messy. No one has the right to be that comfortable perched on top of somebody’s head and swear he isn’t when the truth is staring you right in the face! Knock him off and chase him out of the office once and for all!Crazy Orange Cat! Make America Calico Again!

Hi! It’s me, Tyler! You’ve probably been wondering, been bemused, troubled even, at where I might have been all this time. Or maybe not. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is, I’m back. The fact is, I’ve been napping for the past 2 years. Just taking it easy and enjoying myself.

I warned you what would happen if I didn’t pick up the slack on this blog business. I hate to say I told you so but just as I predicted, the Beans failed to hold up their end of things and left everything to me. Well, guess what? I let the ball drop because no one tells me what to do and when to do it. Remember, I’m a cat.

You may not know it (well, how could you when no one was around to write about it) but we moved from Long Island to upstate New York where it’s colder than a seagull’s spit in the dead of winter. The Beans pretty much fell off the face of the earth after that but now things are getting back to normal which is still pretty weird as far as humans go. I don’t care, as long as they feed me whatever they’re having which is pretty interesting most of the time, even for leftovers.

How was your Christmas? Is it true there’s really a Santa Claws? Because, I for one, didn’t get a single thing I asked for on my Christmas list:

Muscle milk. Dad’s always drinking the stuff but I just can’t get my tongue go to all the way down to the bottom of the empty bottle so I asked for my own supply. I even specified I didn’t have a preference as to what flavor. But for whatever reason, it wasn’t there come Christmas morning. Were the cows too cold to milk? Didn’t they work out that morning?

Stinky sneakers. I just love to lay on Dad’s after he comes in from wearing them all day. I want a pair of my own even if they don’t fit. They make such nice pillows. Guess what? I didn’t get them either. Faith is beginning to wane.

Clementine still hates my guts. So I asked for 5 minutes of her love and affection just to experience what it feels like. Christmas is the season of miracles and that one would have proven that there really is a Santa Claws. Guess what? She hates me more than ever.

My para trooper’s gear. Remember that? When I first arrived at the Bean’s I was wearing it (they said it was a harness but I’m a cat, not a horse) and I wouldn’t let them take it off. Mom took a pair of scissors and cut it off! I could really use it here because the new space we’re in has 12 foot high ceilings and it would satisfy my adventurous spirit if I could get up high enough to test my flight skills. Needless to say, I didn’t get that either. I thought I was a really good boy but maybe Claws is holding a grudge because I said he’s one fat cat, stupid looking too. Who’s he think he’s kidding with that beard thing going on? I could use it to stuff my sneakers. If I had a pair.

I hope you got everything you wanted for Christmas. I don’t think I believe in Santa’s Claws. Then again, mine were recently trimmed and if he got his done then that explains why he couldn’t scale the walls to get in. We don’t have a chim knee.

So……..whadayathink? Have you been disappointed by the total absence of gifts inside your sock? Mine didn’t even have lint. Smelled okay though.

Hi! It’s me! Tyler! Here to save the day……while perusing the blog site, I was horrified to learn that the entries of late (and I do mean LATE) have been somewhat sporadic and scant in content. I mean, if you like poetry, fine but there has to be a little more substance, don’t you agree? Blogs with a little more bite to them. That’s where I step in, to pick up the slack.
I admit I’m not a big fan of poetry. Anyone can do it, even a cat. That’s not to say we’re in any way inferior to the human bean, let me clarify this by saying, it’s quite the opposite. Cats choose not to write poetry for the simple reason, we just don’t want to. Oh, we can do it all right, in fact with the utmost of grace and eloquence, however this restricts us from rising to greater aspirations some of which you may be more likely to associate with the feline of species. But just to make my point that even a cat can do it, here’s one example…”Once upon a midnight mousey, As I pondered feeling lousey, Over many a volume of forgotten gore….” Pretty good, huh? Written by a cat named Poe.
Now, what troubles me is the ever apparent neglect in blog submissions. What have the Beans been doing with their time??? Oh, don’t give me that dried up old excuse…..shoveling snow, scraping ice, shivering in your bootstraps nonsense. I’ve seen you out there. Doesn’t look like that much work to me. You don’t even look cold. In fact you’re sweating. Then you come inside and groan (just to make sure I know you’re tired) and pull off your wet things and have a hot bowl of something nice to eat. And when I ask for some, I get a teeny tiny nibble that’s supposed to satisfy my lion’s appetite worked up from watching you at the window. This is very distressing to say the least.
Then to top it all off with the proverbial red cherry and chocolate sprinkles (make that multi colored) you expect me, a quiet unassuming feline, to contribute his valuable time and (yawn) energy to utilize his creative writing skills in a pinch? Well, all right then! You asked for it! (I think this is what’s called venting.) I’m through with the pair of you! After this, you’re on your own. And don’t give us another one of your hokey five second poems. Let’s have a blog entry with a little meat on the bone, like mine. Now go make yourselves useful and get my dinner. (This has been a public service announcement brought to you by the Tyler Talks Foundation….If it’s worth spilling ink it’s because I knocked it over).

Hey! It’s me, Tyler! I am now an official NY State resident, having reached my one year anniversary and I couldn’t be happier. Oh sure, Snowshoe still kicks my butt every now and again but I’ve learned to read his body language, and believe me, there are some choice words in there! The difference is, I no longer care. I just make a fuss so the Beans will yell at him and lavish me with the attention I so deserve. Five minutes later, I sprawl defiantly in front of Alpha male daring him to do it again. Invariably he does, much to my bitter dismay but more often than not, the old man just falls asleep. He’s not as tough as he pretends to be. His whiskers are old and his underwear is older. Oh. I’ve just been informed he isn’t wearing any. I don’t know what to make of that so I’ll just leave it alone.
Clementine still spurns my advances. All I want to do is pat her head and say, “It’s okay, my lovely little snicky snack.” But I guess I just don’t possess the eloquence of de Bergerac and therefore all she can see is my big nose. I just want to sniff her a little and say’ “My, what’s that perfume you’re wearing? Essence of organic catnip?” She just spits at me like I’ve just uttered the most ridiculous thing. What’s a guy to do?
I have grown increasingly fond of the Beans and seek their presence at all times. They smile at me adoringly and say things like, “Isn’t he cute????” That’s a rhetorical question and yet it’s always answered with such enthusiastic conviction. It just melts my heart when Lady Bean comes home from wherever she’s been all day and makes the biggest fuss when she sees me. I get so happy I claw at the rug and she just laughs. I think she’s genuinely glad to see me although she acts the same way with the other kids and then I don’t feel so special anymore. I think she still likes me best and just doesn’t want to hurt the feelings of the others.
Bean Daddy’s birthday is the 4th and I’m throwing him a surprise party. The surprise is to snub him when I see him. I think I’ll throw myself a party instead to celebrate my year long vacation in NY. Here’s the invite:
Come one, come all, to Tyler’s ball and bring me lots of presents. And if you come with nothing at all, you’ll be turned away at the door and never so much as looked at sideways and wish you never were born and shipped to that god awful place called Nacogdoches, Texas!

So…………….whadayathink? Are you as pleased as I am about my one year anniversary? I accept gifts of all kinds. Did I mention to bring me something nice? I especially favor live mice (not the fake kind you buy at the supermarket) and creepy crawly things of which there are a lot more to be found in Texas.

Some of you may have been wondering where I’ve been all winter. Then again, others may have muttered “I’m glad that cat’s finally stopped writing”. For those of you who’ve missed me, this blog’s for you. To the rest, go bark at the dog next door.
It’s been a long first winter here in New York and I have been preoccupied with the business of napping, chasing snowflakes at the window, napping, writing my memoirs, napping, running scared from Snowshoe (the Alpha male cat), napping, mooning after Clementine who hates me with a passion, and napping. So, for us Texas cats, all this talk about Spring has me anticipating what this new season has in store for me.
They say Spring is when everything turns GREEN. I’m happy with my coloring the way it is, thank you, and have no imminent desire to appear in the form of a moving topiary. Someone may just clip my tail.
They also say Spring is when everything buds and flowers. I can do without the blossoms behind my ears. I am not a flower child. However, it’s a well known fact that flowers attract insects, so I may just sport one behind an ear. I’d really like to taste one or two. I have a vey discerning palate and can recommend the best varieties from which you may benefit as they are very healthful however fuzzy. Then again, if you’re the dog who’s still reading my blog with the usual contempt, you have no real taste anyway. I’ve seen you spit them out and then, with the table manners of a mongrel, put them back in your mouth. At least place them nicely on a plate and for goodness sake, use utensils. The important thing is to appear distinguished while munching the little critters so as not to arouse suspicion from the Beans. For they will scoop them up with disgust and call you a disparaging name. Honestly, they have about as much sense as the mutt next door. Not you, Chip. You’re very nice. I think there a mutt a couple of houses down.
Anyway, I am quite looking forward to Spring, aren’t you?